


Routine Affection

by domini_moonbeam



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28046346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domini_moonbeam/pseuds/domini_moonbeam
Summary: He Cheng and Qiu finally getting together.
Relationships: He Cheng/Brother Qiu (19 Days)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 177





	Routine Affection

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try at QiuCheng! Hope you enjoy it!

Qiu walked through the dark penthouse toward the only glow of light at the far end of the long hall. He had left guards on duty outside and locked up. He needed to shower. His shirt was blood stained and sticking to his skin. It had been a long night, nothing new, but nothing nice.

The bedroom door was left open, and so was the door to the bathroom—white tiles aglow. He stopped in the doorway, silently watching Cheng peel the gloves from his hands and toss them to the side. They made a wet slapping sound where they landed, beading blood that wasn’t his on the floor.

They had routines. After particularly rough nights, cleaning up had become a routine too. He couldn’t remember how this had started—cleaning up together.

Everything had started too early in his life. He didn’t remember his first cigarette or his first drink or his first scar. He didn’t remember the first time he took a punch or gave one. He wasn’t even sure his memory of the first time he saw a man die was right. He was pretty sure he remembered the first person he’d killed though—but even that got foggy sometimes, muddled by too many that followed. There was something wrong with him, he was sure of that. He wasn’t even always sure he was a person—not really.

He had been given like a dog to a man by his father—at least, he was pretty sure he had been his father. Qiu didn’t know, and most often, didn’t care.

“You’re okay?” Cheng asked but didn’t look at him, still standing in the middle of his oversized, spotless bathroom. He peeled his dress shirt off and tossed it in the same direction as his gloves. His voice was steel, betraying no emotion or care one way or the other.

But that was the thing with Cheng, he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t care.

Qiu grunted and took a step into the bathroom, pulling his own shirt off over his head and adding to the growing pile.

Cheng was the first to step into the large walk-in shower, his naked image made into a smudgy silhouette by the distorted glass wall. He turned on the shower, adding heat to the cold room.

Qiu stepped out of his boots after unlacing them and worked his pants off. Everything was bloody. He wanted another cigarette. He walked around the half wall and into the shower. He let his gaze run over Cheng while he was under the shower spray, waiting his turn.

They had a routine for this.

Qiu did not remember the first time it had happened, maybe in a safe house where they had to share a room after a particularly messed up night? Or had it been that time he broke his arm? Yeah, maybe that had been it. They had still been teens, barely adults. Cheng had followed him into the bathroom and without saying anything, stripped him down, cutting his shirt off him. He’d walked him into the shower and cleaned him up, cataloguing wounds that he patched up after they were out and dried off.

Qiu hadn’t understood why he bothered. He had assumed Cheng wanted to fuck him. But he hadn’t touched him like that, not that time. The routine of cleaning up together after bad nights had become just that, cleaning up. There had been plenty of times since when he was so sure that would change. Cheng looked at him sometimes like he was thinking about what he wanted to do—Qiu could see it in him the way he saw most things in people. But Qiu didn’t cross the line. Not exactly, anyway. He leaned up against the line, might be more accurate.

Cheng stepped out of the spray and pushed his hair back from his face, shaking the strands out with his fingers and dragging his gaze over Qiu. That gaze again, full of too many thoughts. His jaw ticked and he nudged his head toward the spray. Qiu stepped into the hot water and scrubbed the filth from his skin. He was going to die for Cheng someday. He had always known he’d die violently, for someone, someday. It hadn’t bothered him because it had never been any other way. But he liked knowing it would be for Cheng.

He palmed Qiu’s shoulder, across his back, pressing his spine. Qiu opened his eyes, staring at tile, trying to memorize the feel of Cheng’s hands slowly and methodically roaming his skin. He was looking for wounds. It was a part of the routine. Qiu had asked once, years ago, when they were must younger, why he did that. Qiu was his guard, after all—his dog. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t he be searching Cheng for wounds?

Cheng had snorted at him then, cigarette balanced on his lip despite being in the steam of the shower. _“You take the wounds for me, the least I can do is see them.”_

He always lingered on scars, like taking a moment to remember the story behind each one. That time Qiu had taken a bullet for him. That time he’d been scraped up in a car crash. That time broken glass got in his arm. He even paused over the ones that had come before him and after years of looking, one time he’d finally asked about them, fingers placed over cigarette burns on his back or the gashes long-since-healed on the backs of his thighs where a belt buckle had caught skin. Qiu hadn’t understood then why he asked, why he cared, but he’d answered bluntly.

When Qiu had been given to Cheng’s father as a kid, he’d been placed by Cheng’s side. He was pretty sure it was the only blessing he’d ever been given but it was worth all the misfortunes. Qiu hadn’t really understood that anyone before had been cruel until Cheng wasn’t. He was fair. And when no one else was looking, he was fun. It had been easy to become friends as kids.

He hadn’t understood a lot of things when they were younger. Hadn’t understood that look or why Cheng never just took what he obviously wanted. Hadn’t understood why he cared about old scars or new ones.

Qiu let out a sigh when Cheng slid calloused, steady hands over his thighs.

“You don’t own me,” Qiu said.

Cheng froze, standing behind him, palm hot against his hip. And then he took his hand away and a step back.

Qiu smiled to himself because of course Cheng stepped back at that—probably thinking Qiu was calling him out on something, on overstepping or taking advantage. He could already imagine the look on his face, that well-guarded surprise, confusion, and hurt. They had grown up together. He knew Cheng. He could read him without looking. So why had it taken this long to figure out why he couldn’t make that move? Because he was his own sort of fucked up, probably. Because it had taken him this long to realize it himself—to realize he wasn’t property and he didn’t have to die for anyone he didn’t want to die for. He wasn’t a dog. He was a person.

He turned around, the shower spraying at his back, and met those dark eyes. “You don’t own me,” he repeated, steady. “But I am yours.”

The flicker of hurt vanished, replacing by something much more complicated.

“I wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want to do, but I would do anything for you,” Qiu added, finding the words easy once he decided to say them.

Cheng’s eyes widened just the slightest, his jaw flexed, and then he took a step closer. So close that Qiu felt the heat of his body on his own skin. Cheng reached up, hand hovering over his neck and up, over his jaw and his cheek, still not touching, still thinking, still hesitating.

Qiu smirked. He hadn’t known before that that hesitation was love, but now that he did, it was impossible not to see it clearly—not to marvel. No one had ever hesitated to touch him out of affection for him. The only thing that had ever kept people away from him before had been fear. But Cheng had resisted for years because Qiu had not known he had a choice. Qiu would have done anything for him without ever thinking he could say no—whether he wanted to or not. That mattered. He knew it mattered now, even if he hadn’t then.

“I want you,” Qiu said, voice low, barely a whisper. He leaned his face that last centimeter forward, into Cheng’s touch. His fingertips were hot against his jaw, sending jolts through his skin. “Do you want me—”

“Fuck,” Cheng finally cracked, hand curling around the back of Qiu’s neck and dragging him forward into his body, their mouths connecting in a first kiss that had taken years to reach.

Cheng pivoted them to the side, another step and he had Qiu pressed up against the wall, their bodies flush together.

Qiu groaned against that kiss, opening his mouth when Cheng’s tongue pressed against his lips and then sucking at it when it thrust past. He touched Cheng’s sides, up and over his back. Fuck, he’d never had free reign to just touch him before. He pulled at him as if to get him closer even when there was no space left between them. It wasn’t enough. He was sure it would never be enough.

Cheng grabbed at Qiu’s jaw, tipping his head high and holding him there while he used lips and teeth along his throat. Qiu shivered, straining, reveling in the firm hold of that body pinning his to the wall. He rolled his hips, rubbing them together, gasping at the ceiling at the feeling of the other man’s erection grinding against his. He whined when the contact was lost.

It took his mind a second to realize Cheng was still doing his methodical search of Qiu’s body, on the front now, using his mouth to trace scars he had mapped with his gaze and touch dozens of times before. Qiu sucked a breath when Cheng travelled sound, tonguing shrapnel scars along his ribs. He started to push away from the wall, trying to form words and think again, but Cheng curls his lip in an almost snarl and pushed him back. His palm was flat to Qiu’s chest and his back hit the wall hard, making him grin because somehow that felt right. It felt like need. It felt good.

Qiu stood there, dragging breaths of steam, feeling the other man’s mouth ghost over his hip, kissing a cigarette burn there so gently before biting at his thigh just hard enough to leave a mark but not break skin. Qiu groaned in perfect agony, Cheng’s face so close to his hard cock that his breath fluttered over the sensitive flesh. A year from now, when they’d fucked every which way in every room of every penthouse, safehouse, office and warehouse they knew, Qiu would have just told the man to fucking suck it or switch places. But not this time. Not the first time. His heart was hammering in his chest faster than he could ever remember it beating before. Nothing had ever been this thrilling, this terrifying, or this exciting.

“Boss—” Qiu started, breathy, needing something. But he knew it was the wrong word the second it jumped from his mouth.

Cheng stood upright, contact between them lost.

Qiu groaned, eyes opening to stare back at his best-friend. He was still close, so close, but he had taken his hands off Qiu and was looking at him again, eyes narrowing like he was trying to decide something. Fuck. Had he really fucked this up already?

Cheng dragged his gaze over him again, lingering on his stiff sex before returning to his face with a half-smirk. “Don’t call me that when we’re doing this.”

Qiu shuddered but nodded. “What are we doing?”

The half-smirk broke into a grin that was nothing if not wolfish. Fiarytale creatures would cry if they saw that grin. Most people would run. Qiu ached. “Whatever we want,” he said and then grabbed Qiu’s shoulder, pulling him off the wall only to turn him and push him forward. His arms came up to press to the cold tiles before his face could hit it. Cheng was behind him, one hand gripping the back of his neck while the other pulled at his hip, holding him in place. He rubbed his hips forward, grinding his cock against Qiu’s ass. He leaned over his shoulder and from the corner of his eye Qiu could see that he was still grinning. “And I really, really,” he went on, voice low, each word punctuated. “want to fuck you up against this wall.”

Qiu moaned, pressing his forehead to the tiles and his ass back against the other man’s hard on.

“I’ve been thinking about what it would feel like to burry myself in you for years,” Cheng went on against his ear. He took his hand off the back of his neck but kept his chest to his back, holding him in place while he talked. He was moving, doing something. “I watched you with someone, in the backroom at the club,” he said, and Qiu shuddered, surprised. “I thought I could figure out what you’d sound like in my bed.” His leg pressed against the inside of Qiu’s to have him spreading wide, breath catching in his throat. He heard something uncap, one of those fancy-ass, scentless shower gels of Cheng’s. His heart beat so fast his head swam. “But you didn’t make sounds, not really. You didn’t even seem that into it. You and some guy making out and jerking each other off in the dark.”

Qiu swallowed hard, nodding against the tiles. He remembered that. The guy had come onto him at the club a few times and then propositioned him in the back room. He was pretty and soft. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been gorgeous and dangerous though—no one was going to beat He Cheng on the scales of hot and deadly.

“But you seem into this,” Cheng went on, thinking aloud. Slick fingers stroked between Qiu’s ass cheeks and he jumped, sucking down a breath.

“Yes,” Qiu choked out.

Cheng slid a finger into him all the way to the knuckle.

Qiu closed his eyes and groaned.

His hand moved, slowly, in and out.

“Fuck,” Qiu gasped.

Cheng bit softly at his shoulder, fingering him, watching him. “Do you usually do the fucking, Qiu?”

He shuddered at the sound of his own name in that mouth. It wasn’t strange there but right now, it sounded more intimate than usual. He still had his eyes closed, rolling his temple against the cold tile and focused on the feel of Cheng’s finger. He gasped when he added a second. “Yeah…usually women, sometimes men.” He had never been the one to pursue but he didn’t mind company either.

The fingers slowed, almost stopped before the rhythm continued. Qiu forced himself to slit his eyes open and try to see Cheng’s expression. He shivered, the man still watching him, studying him. “Have you ever been fucked?”

Qiu managed a laugh then, throaty and deep. He smiled, sloppy with lust. “You going to be gentle with me if I say no?”

Cheng’s smile returned and he added a third finger in answer, making Qiu groan and arch. He shuddered, dazed. “Never-Never trusted anyone…to…” He rolled his hips back against Cheng’s hand. “Never looked for it either.”

Cheng thrust a few more times before biting at his shoulder again. “Say it.”

Qiu shivered, forcing himself to open his eyes again.

Cheng was staring back at him and his fingers stopped thrusting, pressed inside for a second before pulling out slowly and leaving him empty. Those dark eyes stared hard into his. “Say it,” he said again, looking like a devil offering a deal for the right words.

Fuck. Qiu would make any deal with him. He grinned. “I want you in me. I want you.”

Cheng actually shuddered, biting back a moan at just his words. And then he was positioning himself behind him, pushing into him. For a second Qiu thought he wouldn’t fit, and then he was sliding inside him, deeper and deeper until his mouth was opening wide to gasp out swears.

Cheng kissed his back, pressing in until his hips were flush with Qiu’s ass. He paused there, moaning against the back of his neck. His hands slid down Qiu’s sides, one taking hold of his hip while the other move to the front, palming his cock. He smiled against Qiu’s skin when he felt that he was still hard, but he still didn’t move until Qiu started squirming, starting rolling his hips back into his.

Qiu was glad he was braced against the wall, because his vision got spotty when Cheng started fucking him, strokes so deep and hard that his legs actually trembled. And then Cheng wrapped his hand around Qiu’s cock and started stroking in time with those thrusts. It was enough to have him choking back his own pleasure, trying to hang on just to have this longer, trying to memorize every second of it.

He was spitting out words without his mind even involved, blindly begging with no idea what he was even asking for. When he came it was so hard he almost blacked out, holding his breath and twitching through it, Cheng’s thrusts dragging it out. He was glad Cheng didn’t finish at the same time, because it gave him just enough of a chance to come back to his sense to clock the sounds the other man made at the end of his own pleasure and the way his hips jerked a little in those last thrusts, like a twitch out of his control. Fuck, that was hot. He wanted to watch that next time.

They stayed there for a while after, pressed together, catching their breaths before he slid out of him and took a step back.

Qiu swallowed hard, rolling his shoulders like he was stretching just to buy a few more seconds before turning around, trying to prepare himself for Cheng to be back to usual—withdrawn and closed off. Maybe this would be something that they did sometimes? Maybe a part of these shower routines?

But when he turned around, Cheng was waiting for him, that almost-smirk pulling at his mouth again. He curled fingers around the back of Qiu’s neck and drew him forward into a kiss, deep and sated with a little bit at his lip at the end. “Hurry up and clean up, I’m tired,” he said casually.

They finished showering, in their usual routine but with something lighter about it now, something open. After drying off, Cheng padded into his bedroom. Qiu followed and caught the pair of clean underwear Cheng tossed his way. This was the part of the night where Qiu usually left, went to his the guest room, and tried to get a few hours of sleep. He was two steps to the door when Cheng said, “Stay?”

It was so casual, like he’d asked a dozen times before and the answer could go either way.

Qiu paused, watching Cheng toss his phone on the bedside table and then roll into bed, leaving the cover still drawn back and a space beside him.

It wasn’t like they’d never slept in the same bed. They’d crash plenty of places in an emergency. But this was different. He closed the bedroom door and crossed the dark room, sliding into bed beside him and exhaling a relief he’d never known when Cheng tossed the covers over him.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://dominimoonbeam.tumblr.com/)


End file.
